Doll or Puppet
by Vel Vitrum
Summary: It's the state of mind where you can't decipher truth from reason. The person in the mirror follows your movements, but something about it is completely wrong. It mimics. It smiles. It feels. Then there's the realization where you can't see anything else beyond that. I can't smile like that. I can't remember why I feel this way. That person in the mirror. That's not me.
1. Prologue: A Doll's Addiction

Prologue_: A Doll's Addiction_

* * *

On the night the Bloody Swan appeared, a tragedy was born.

It was deceptive, indomitable, and the worst part was that no one even knew the reason why it happened. The Bloody Swan was a dark figure, a shadow, of an organization that few people knew about. Until this night, she only stood back in the sidelines, watching the main characters play their role. Because that's what they were to her, just characters in a play.

Only she didn't just stand by, she observed. She watched with those glowing blue eyes – eyes that carry secrets that one wouldn't want to hear. She watched, still like a statue, as if she was just a beautiful painting waiting for one to notice.

A painting with eyes that'll follow.

The Bloody Swan didn't have a reputation which is why no one suspected the poison hidden in her feathers. She wore white in that day, a cloak that was as white as snow, a cloak that didn't reflect the light of the moon, and beneath that veil was an evanescent face. Perhaps this was the main reason she continued on her path of blood. She was never caught, because the swan could never be evil.

On that night, she played a song. It was sweet yet sorrowful, bringing music and tears to the ears of the dreamers. The harp in her hands, fingers trailing behind one by one on the strings, a soft melody rang in the empty streets. It was a dulcet sound, a lullaby to the silent village. It was the first thing they heard from the Bloody Swan, awakening the eyes and trailing them back to her silhouette in front of the crescent moon.

It was in the last note of the harp that the figure stood up from the tallest building. She was standing, waiting, for something that no one knew. For whom did she wait? What did she want?

Why was she here?

These questions were never answered. The Bloody Swan didn't waste any time to begin the most destructive flick of a domino. She walked forward, one foot dragging in front of the other until the tip of her boots met the edge of the roof. She didn't look down. She didn't let out a breath. It looked like she was only looking into space. Something in her eyes said that she wasn't really there.

As the light in her eyes disappeared, the fading blue glow let her remain inconspicuous. She closed her eyes and it was only a second before she leaned forward, tipping her entire body until the heels of her feet got off the ground.

Suicide.

It was then that a certain feeling passed through the villagers. It was as if something awakened, a feeling that was sinister. It was foreboding. The silence was unnatural. The figure fell so gracefully but instead of having the innocent feeling of a white feather, it was like a sign that a black feather of a raven would carry.

Blue eyes slid open, narrowing into slits against the pressure of the fall. She let her arm lower, escaping her side, and revealed sharp knives pointed at the ground. As she descended closer and closer to her death, the knives grew.

Like needles, she struck them into the ground. She didn't stop, and she didn't stay still. The figure wasn't finished with her descent. She continued to move, slithering on her hands as her fingers touched the handle of her swords. She didn't tremble under the weight of her fall. The balance of her movements couldn't help but to entice the eyes of the villagers with the sway of her cloak.

The Bloody Swan was dancing.

And with the last sword, the biggest of them all, she twirled around. There wasn't any blood. Her eyes, the only thing one was able to see of her, didn't show any pain. It was as if she didn't just fall and dance with the blade of her sword next to her body.

However, the inexplicable feeling came back. What was it? Was it horror? Anxiety? Just that intuition that everyone felt?

No. It wasn't either of them. It was so much simpler than that.

Because just as she finished the dance on her swords with only her hands, just as she flipped with her feet parallel to the ground, and just as she landed without the sound of a thud...

The village turned into flames.

Every step she took was the power of a demon showing its colors. One second she was side by side with the line of blades, the next she was in front of them. They shattered with her step, breaking like glass, and they started to move, diving into their heads, through their skulls, buried in their backs, death happening over and over in the blink of an eye.

The screams of the villagers amplified. Cries were added. Blood and burnt skin stained their bodies until they were only skewered corpses on their homeland.

The white cloak was the only one safe. The chaos only followed as she kept walking. The bodies fell behind her, the terrified villagers scurried to get away from the once beautiful woman.

"Stop it!" A little boy shouted, eyes flickering as he looked up at her. She didn't falter in her steps, not even acknowledging the brave boy who dared to run towards the source of it all. "Stop it or else!"

"Ness, don't!"

Little spots of red now stained the gleaming white cloak. They fell off her blade, trickling on her pale fingers. Her eyes were still indifferent, showing her true reaction. The man's body fell down on his knees as the abominable color spread through his shirt. She gazed at the fallen man, mesmerizing the sound of his croaked grunts.

"Damn...you..."

"Where is the mayor?" She finally spoke, and he expected a soft, regretful voice, but there was no such thing in an emotionless thing like her.

Instead of a response, there was a small cry. The little boy ran to his father's side, taking his shaking hand into his own. He tearfully glared at the cloaked woman, trying to stay strong and almost standing in front of the man. His father forcefully pushed him back, looking at the blue eyes in determination.

She stared back, nonchalantly sighing under her breath and twisting the blade until she got it out. His blood lashed out, spilling itself on her and the boy. She ignored the pained yell of the man and kicked him onto his back.

The little boy let out a shriek of his own, shouting at her while tears spilled onto the man's pale face. "I hate you! You jerk! Monster!" He clutched on the man's limp body, sobbing as if the world ended. Her electric blue eyes simply glanced at him and narrowed them in irritation.

She impaled the man with the blade, watching his half-lidded eyes dim and threw him behind her where his body instantly became a target for the blazing fire. She watched as the little boy gave out another cry, turning red with anger, screeching as he charged at her, sobbing as his father disappeared from his view.

His neck was starting to close inwards, ruining his breathing. All he could do was meet those cold blue eyes surrounded by the white cowl and hood. He shivered under her hold.

"...Get out of here."

He scampered away, turning slightly when he noticed a silver glint flashing past him. He couldn't help but think as he mourned over his father, fear and adrenaline clouding his head before he saw a knife coming towards him, turning his world into nothing.

She was only a little taller than him.

The knights in front of her, however, only saw her as a powerful threat.

"Why are you doing this?"

No one moved, only tensing as the girl looked up. Her fingers twitched and in response the weapons started falling from the fire, directing towards the familiar voice.

"You don't have to go this far!" She blankly looked at the knight's arm. The voice came from his watch.

"You communicate with me through a mere device?" She murmured, clearly not amused.

"They don't need to be included in this. Spare them!"

"You signed the contract." She informed him as if that explained it all. Little did they know, it actually did. Her sword swung horizontally, splitting them both effortlessly. The blood spilled as soon as the blade tore their bodies apart. Their cries joined the other sounds of the dead. She walked further, deeper into the abyss of the town until his voice screeched from a corner.

"I beg of you, please stop!"

"Punishment is an order." With a flick of her wrist, her fingers caught a dagger from the air, tossing it forcefully into the head of her target.

"I'll do anything, just stop!"

"Impossible." She walked over the corpses, not even sparing them a glimpse.

"Why?!" His voice cried out from another direction.

"You broke the deal."

She sidestepped to dodge a sword aiming for her neck, and struck the female guard in the chest.

The Bloody Swan was a creature. She wasn't human. She was born an animal, yet no one would remember that simple little fact. She was an animal. One who enjoyed the taste of another's blood. One who wasn't satisfied with just a kill.

She twisted the blade, emitting an agonizing shriek. Pools of the dark intoxicating liquid started to drip out as she continued turning the sword inside the guard's body. The woman's eyes dilated and her face lost color by the second. She gripped on the blade, pulling it only to be pushed back against her will. The blade started to burn. Her insides were demolished inside out. Her mouth opened, croaking, her tone was one of pure pain.

Her heartbeat stopped.

Her eyes and mouth remained open, leaking out a fountain of blood. The trails almost glittered behind blue eyes. The cloaked woman dragged her blade out and traced lines on the guard's arms, leaving cuts in the shape of a number.

Abruptly, she stabbed her and lifted the body's remains, holding it in front of her as she turned around. Dozens of silver arrows pierced on the hanging carcass. When the arrows finally stopped coming, the guard was thrown away as if she was a useless shield.

"She's already dead! How could you just do that to the dead?!"

A guard stood in front of her with two short swords ready in his hands. He charged at her, but she simply waited. His armored body came closer and closer to her own, but she didn't make one move.

"You can not leave this village without being unharmed after all you have done." The mayor's voice became louder, more confident; the thin blades were an inch away from her stomach.

She tilted her head.

The sound of metal scraping and clinking on one another was accompanied with a disgusting sound of a cracked bone.

Her sword easily blocked his. Her white covered shoulder was now tainted with blood dripping from above. She blankly stared at the guard's eyes, blood turning his eyes pink. He was brutally stabbed in the head. She could faintly see a hint of white beneath the slanted and red covered blade. Her cowl was now ripped off, a piece hanging with the sword that was embedded on the man.

Her face was now revealed.

"Y-you're just a little girl?!"

Below her sapphire orbs was a small, petite nose and her lips forming a thin line. She glanced behind her shoulder; she was caught between the two guards, one already killed by his own comrade, the other...

In one swift movement, the living guard was instantly on the ground along with his motionless partner. Her sword was pointed towards his head as she looked down with only her eyes.

"S-sir!" The guard managed to mutter out. A shuriken flew by her face; her free hand caught it and vigorously threw it down to his stomach, then another and another. "Her–her…her face…" He panted out in pain.

"What about her face?" The mayor whispered back.

She gracefully lowered herself near his side, innocently bringing her legs together, and pinched the shuriken, pulling it slowly across his stomach. She then moved another one by his chest, moving it dangerously close to his heart. The guard failed to notice the twinkle that shined in her usual blank eyes. He screamed in gritted teeth. His body trembled, only making everything worse. She kept pulling, digging it into his skin making scarlet squirm out.

"She…" He trailed off, interrupted by his own scream as he felt a burning sensation in the corner of his beating heart.

"She what?!" The mayor frantically questioned. The girl reluctantly stood up and took a step forward; never removing the sword from his head and instead lowered it to his neck.

"Stop! Please! I'll tell you, just– UGH!"

"Speak." Her voice was so calm, too calm. The mere sound of it made him want to run.

"He's in the tower ... where the gates are!" She pushed the tip of her sword on his neck but not enough to draw blood. "W-wait! I told you!" She pressed harder, crimson oozing from the pierced skin and slashing his neck. Blood endlessly streamed out of the area. His body weakened, and the guard finally dropped his head down on the ground, never hearing the reason why the girl killed him so.

"I do not like traitors." The girl whispered.

She walked away, dragging her sword that was glinting with red.

* * *

The mayor ran up the narrow stairs in panic. His legs were blindly leading him as his frenzied mind was in chaos. All of his other guards, dead, and the only ones left were his three personal knights, protecting him from the manslaughter. No one would believe it, not even him himself. One person, one little girl, killing hundreds of his villagers so easily, so viciously, it was the most terrifying nightmare.

He stopped when they were in a room, panting heavily, knees shaking. He was a mayor with no family, no relatives at all. He was in a predicament and needed help to get out of it, so he turned to an organization.

Only the one he picked was the wrong one.

He already signed the contract, there was no turning back. He should've known. He picked up the words behind those lines, his instincts telling him not to get involved. Those people were monsters in disguise, slaughtering machines that enjoy torturing others. His intuition screamed at him to stay away, but he ignored it. He should've _known_. Those malicious smiles in the shadows as his hand touched the pen. Their minds, since the beginning, were already thinking numerous ways to punish him even without the prospect of betrayal.

It was already too late. They were already prisoners from the start.

The sounds of screams, grunts, splatters, and clangs, came from downstairs. Pleas were ignored, cut off with more agonizing cries. His guards prepared themselves for the worst, none of them noticing that they were missing one.

Every one of their bodies tensed as they stared down at the doorway, waiting for the killer to arrive. What they didn't expect was _her_ sudden appearance, literally coming out of nowhere. Her forehead landed on the tip of their swords. Her pure white cloak was now stained with lines of blood, blood from the villagers. Her skin was free of any bruise or scratch, but that wasn't the reason for their shocked minds.

_It was her face._

The corners of her lips were tilted up in a sadistic smile, her eyes gleaming with amusement. It was as if she was daring them, knowing that they wouldn't kill her. She was enjoying their hesitation, their reluctance to rid of the source of the massacre.

"Get out of the organization right away." The mayor's voice cut through the tense atmosphere like a knife. Her eyes slid towards the man. She noticed that he ran out of devices to speak through. She giggled at the reason behind it. She destroyed them after all. "They forced you into this, didn't they? Do you realize what you're doing?"

_She was a little girl._

"I know."

She took a step forward. One more twitch and the weapon would be in her skull, yet the guards couldn't bring themselves to move.

"This is horrible," The mayor murmured, concern and fear mixed in his voice, "They tricked you, didn't they? I'll help you get out of this, so stop and calm down."

"But I don't want to."

_An innocent, little girl._

"This isn't normal–" The mayor gasped as splashes of blood stained the walls. The girl was in the same spot; the tip of the sword was still on her forehead, the other guard lifeless on the ground. Suddenly, her figure started fading. "An illusion?"

"Correct." The same girl was unexpectedly placed behind the guard and in front of the mayor. A piece of glass was lightly touching the soldier's face with her arms around his neck. The guard frantically turned around only to have her tighten her grip, making him struggle to breathe. "I wasn't forced." Her face betrayed no emotion. The glass shard dug into his cheek. "They offered."

"Why?" He whispered in disbelief.

"You know that feeling?" She asked as she forced the guard onto the ground. "That feeling, that urge, to see or get something." She lowered the glass into his chest while paralyzing him, stabbing through the armor and slowly dragging the piece across his skin.

"You don't want it, you _need_ it. You just can't get enough of it." She unsheathed her sword and raised it above her head. Her expression looked different than before.

"You can't fight it no matter how hard you try."

_She looked like a princess._

She stabbed his arm and pulled the blade backwards without lifting it. His blood spilled out of the gash in a beautiful red stream. She twisted it and jabbed deeper, his grunts growing louder, the pain overbearing...

"This feeling that lives inside you…you can't get rid of it because than it will kill you too."

She hastily pulled out the sword, eyes shimmering in an abnormal way. There was another yell of anguish. She impaled his leg until she could hear the clink where it touched the floor.

"This is happening to me." His stomach was next.

A crimson pool circled around him, like red roses surrounding his corpse, she mused.

"My willpower is weak against it. I always want to see more of it."

His pleas came out repeatedly just like how his blood kept on spilling. He wanted it to stop. He begged for it to disappear.

Only more came.

"Possession." She stated with slight amusement. The man was struggling to breathe; his eyes were bloodshot, his vision blurring.

Her sword landed softly near his face, the flat side of the blade turned his head to face her. "When I feel the last breath of life coming out of the person, I look into their eyes."

She traced the tip on his other pale cheek and started drawing. "At that point," she lifted her sword and plunged his heart, ending it all, "It's being God."

The mayor's eyes widened in shock, darting from the drawing carved on the guard's cheek to the girl in front of him. The cuts swerved in curls, almost forming the letter x. Blood dripped, more in purposely deep cuts, barely in shallow ones.

It was a drawing.

"It's like a maze made of what you want…but there's a hole." She flicked her sword in front of her face, watching the blood drip and fall, drip and fall. It was like a mantra in her eyes. "The thing you want offers relief," she lowered the blade and met his panicked eyes, "but it's a trap."

The carved drawing of a bird made naturally out of blood.

"A swan." He whispered in realization and fear as she walked closer.

_She looked like a damsel in distress._

She swung her sword, making the blood slither off. Her eyes held a different color. They weren't just blue. It was a darker, sinister color that swirled in those bloodthirsty eyes.

Red.

Wind blew powerfully towards their direction. The glass windows shattered behind him. Her cloak moved back and forth, removing her hood and revealing her hair.

Silver.

_A girl who never received her hero._

Her emotionless gaze stared straight at him. Millions of glass shards surrounded her, tips pointing at him. They cracked, breaking into beautiful small diamonds the size of a nail.

His village was quiet like the night before, only it was covered in complete and utter silence. The lights flickered before giving into darkness. The innocent village was now covered in blood, corpses, and pure destruction. The only sound he could hear was his own short, shallow breathing that made him cower even more.

She raised her sword, straightening it perfectly parallel to the ground. In an instant, the glass pieces zoomed and pierced into his skin, flashing like shooting stars. They were so tiny, so many. His screams of pain and agony echoed in the empty village.

No one was able to hear it.

_A girl who resembled a broken doll._

His eyes weakly drooped, vision and smell obscured by red. His head fell on the sill of the open window. His arms were numb, covered in his own blood. His legs were completely dead with her sword stuck into his skin and her chin relaxing on the hilt.

"Addiction," She started off calmly, soothingly yet tonelessly, "Is a cruel game."

She carelessly pulled it out in slow strides. The last thing he saw were her ruby eyes reflecting nothing but his corpse. He didn't notice her sword in position to kill, right above his heart.

But it was too late, because right after she said that last word, all he saw was black.

_A broken, little doll surrounded by corpses._

* * *

**A/N: **Minimal Changes. Only big changes will occur once this story is complete. But I will give more clues and reruns to clarify this story more in case anything confuses the reader. HOWEVER, I will give the reruns in the next chapter so that way the reader can figure it out on their own. There's no fun if I just _gave it away. _So I'll reread the chapters ASAP, re-post, and clarify on adjacent chapters.

Okay? Okay! Review kiddies ;D


	2. Chapter 1: Imprisonment

**A/N:**Before any of you read, the I've made VERY small changes on every chapter. Sometimes I've just italicized them. From now on, I'll give short reruns, clarification and analysis for the previous chapter on the beginning of every chapter because this isn't just any story. This is a **psychological** one. Which means confusion, intricate vocabulary, and inappropriate themes for some readers. I'll give warnings though.

Moving on:

The prologue is in, as you've noticed, a third POV. Which means an unknown character makes an appearance by slaughtering civilians in order to make a statement of intimidation and impending warning to the mayor of the village from an organization. The mayor fails to take responsibility and simply runs away from the murderer who is revealed to be a little girl with a gruesome obsession with blood. Before his death, the mayor realizes the little girl looks like a princess with a haunted look in her eyes. *hint hint not really* with SILVER hair and RED eyes. She makes a name for herself as the Bloody Swan for her white attire and marking of her victims in this event. Possibilities of her real identity can vary.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Imprisonment**

There is a reason for everything.

Most people find no reason to believe in such a thing. They find it sinful. If there was a reason for everything, then that automatically makes us animals. This led to the belief that if it were true, then we are motivated for ourselves. We regress to greed, envy, pride, and self-maintenance. As long as we are alive, we want to continue to live, to survive. Everything else does not matter. It is an inalienable process of selfish, unnecessary will to breathe.

But no one wants this origin. We do not want to be seen as creatures full of sin. We have to redeem ourselves somehow. There doesn't have to be a reason. It could be fate. It could be karma. It could be God.

That's how we diverge ourselves from reality.

So there are many branches of our views. We either believe in a religion, or we just find the need to search for answers. Discovery, expectations, all names of curiosity lead us to something else. Something entirely different, something that we believe is an actual, experimental reason for our origins, for our motivations, for our environment, for our situations.

Logic is born. Numbers take place of worship. Percentages and statistics contribute to the facts, to the timeline of our lives. There is a reason behind a reason. An effect to affect. A cause to fall. The domino to the hour. All the way down to the microscopic molecule of the surface of the Earth.

But we seal things. We find it significant to hide certain discoveries to ourselves, which leads to the concept of superiority and inferiority because we _know _things that others do not, because such things are better kept secret, that there is a need for security for specific kinds of people that do not have the necessary mentality to pull off an understanding to a degree. There are dangerous objects in the world. We should only keep it to ourselves because if the information is leaked, then chaos would indubitably follow right after. Such reason is unknown to people. Such reason delves deeper into our own minds.

Then there are those that have no reason to care, the people that find no care to believe in reason for everything or the idea that there is such a thing. We only obey and follow, listen and imprint, know and teach. The ones who don't bother to think any more than the basics.

"What are you in for?"

Hark was the most ruthless prison in the entire continent. It was meant for the insane, or in nicer terms, the mentally handicapped. The person confined was either a criminal or in the process of being one; they are trapped in inescapable clothing when released to the outside world, and free to move in the small walls behind metal bars. It was unique from normal institutions. Prisoners did not face each other. Their rooms were facing the fence miles away from their person. The building, if one would even call it that, favored height than length. Rooms were aligned back to back and side to side. The double aisle was stacked. The guards and doctors climbed stairs every time to put prisoners back in or out. The newcomers were the most unfortunate for the fact that they would receive the highest rooms. The rooms that were the most isolated and perhaps, the coldest places in the planet.

I was in one of those rooms. Arms wrapped tightly by the white collared uniform, I mechanically walked into the empty space that was my new home. I was only pushed lightly because of my cooperation, otherwise the guard showed no mercy to my treatment. When I stood in the middle of the room, I didn't know what to do. There was nothing _to_ do, especially in a bare cage. After a few seconds, I realized that I was left under the mercy of my own was why when I leaned on the wall and faced the setting light of bright yellow that, strangely enough, illuminated the sky with pure red and fluffy orange clouds, I was expecting a silent night. A night without words into my ear, just an invisible hum, not the sardonic one muffled behind.

I only stirred slightly, trying not to be disturbed. I shouldn't be hearing another voice, especially not one that was so close. The walls were supposed to be thick enough to trap all noise from the other side; the soundproof glass in front only served as absolute security from sound.

But then there was a knock.

"You can hear me, right?"

Jumping away from the back, I looked up to the tiny opening of a window. There, I saw it. A lone red eye, a color that glowed, stared back at me between the thick pillars. They crinkled up in amusement at my reaction. "Paranoid much?"

I swallowed, feeling it hard to do when I did, "Who–"

"Let's not get into pleasantries," The person interrupted, "We're not civil, after all."

It was hard to take it seriously. The situation was downright absurd. I shouldn't be talking to an eye on the other side of my prison wall. When I heard of my arrest, I was expecting the rest of my life to be in solitude.

"Not much of a talker, are you?" They said. "You're not looking good in my book so far."

"So far?" I asked, unconsciously walking towards the ruby eye. The solid red color rolled down in order to trace my movements, quickly looking back up when confirmed as nothing.

"Yeah, you're quiet, and you're paranoid. Traits like that automatically make you irrational. It's one step to the white room."

One step away from the rough cement of the wall, I blinked at the red eye. There was no reason to be scared, no reason to let their words ingrain themselves into my mind. Listen and move on, that's all I had to do. It was just another sound in the background. "I see."

It brought the question right back, "So what are you in for?"

I turned my head, cheek facing the accusing eye of the wall. There was nothing else to see, just another repetition. I fidgeted. The wind was coming. The breeze danced freely on my skin and created bumps. I tried to curl myself even more but to no avail.

"I don't know." Instead of making a sound of annoyance or disbelief, it hummed at my vague response. "What about you?"

The lone eye crinkled again, only instead of amusement speckled in that orb, cynical humor shadowed it instead. "I killed someone important."

My legs trembled, bones practically grinding against one another. I lifted my foot, pants riding up, and then back down. Switch. Down. Switch. Up. A rebelling strand of hair fell between my eyes; I didn't bother to move it. "Why?"

For a second, I thought I said the wrong thing. It was like only one feature of the face was the complete edition. It was contemptuous, ratifying, simply an array of emotions that didn't find content in their current situation. If I was in their place, I would probably feel that way too. Nobody wants to be an eye on the wall. It was rather degrading.

After the long pause, the eye finally responded, lids falling halfway. It was ironic when it closed and opened again, changing into another color, one that was soft and comforting. It was the exact opposite of the bloody red that watched me in the dark.

"I don't know."

Such a beautiful blue color.

* * *

It was funny when the world kept revolving. There was no end to a day, just a simple transformation and revision. The sky was a blank piece of paper for the sun. It sheathed itself under every color, refusing to stay white. That was the job of the clouds.

Today, though, there were no clouds. It left me nearly speechless when I realized how vast the sky was. It created a strong urge within to reach up. I knew the impossibility of my desire, but that's what desires are. They're impossibilities. They're the wishes that make us into greedy little kids. Once we achieve it, they're no longer desires. No, that was wrong. They're still desires, but they're uncatchable. They don't disappear, merely move on. They mimic a compelling necessity, urging us to go on and take what we perceive as ours. Only those with enough thoughts hesitate, but once they receive pleasurable words from another, the brief pause disappears, and they're just like the others.

But we believe that no matter the reason, it is still wrong. We must not fall into temptation. We must not lust over such trivial things.

So how do we avoid it?

There are numerous ways to distract us and sway us away from a desire, but there is nothing that will make us completely avoid it. For one, there is a trace in our minds that echo our wants. It applies to daily survival. It is connected to our own body who wants food, drinks, warmth, and touch. Eventually, there is a creation of a hole, a black hole. It constantly feeds. It is constantly fed. It's a danger to our system, but there is nothing we could do about it. In order to kill it, it would have to be nonexistent. Otherwise we only succeed in making it bigger by simply wanting it to perish.

That is the process of one of the seven deadly sins, sins that we all carry, sins that prisoners in Hark emphasize and personify.

But there are those who don't have that capacity. I suppose it would be considered another sin from others, since it is an inhumane aspect from a human being. They have no expression. They carry no reaction. They have no will of their own, simply following others to emulate.

I would be considered one of those creatures if it wasn't for the freedom of a suffocating mind.

I leaned forward to the fence, skin meeting the rough metal edges of the pattern, and then I heard a soft chuckle from my right. I didn't bother to turn my head, but I saw the color of pure white in the corner of my eye.

"My, my," His playful voice made me shudder as if worms were slithering on every part of my body. "What a curious thing to be thinking so deeply in thought. People might think you're finding a way to escape."

The fence rattled when he leaned on his side. "I'm not."

"I have a suggestion. Call it an honor from someone such as I. The guards make it a habit to poke the fences with their twirling batons. It's rather painful from what I gather."

I stood up straight and looked at the man. His attitude has already been labeled as flamboyant and narcissistic. His colorless hair, combed neatly to the side, sharply covered one of his eyes. The other one had a purple shade lined neatly underneath. I couldn't tell if it was permanent make-up or the lack of sleep. His sharp long ears caught my attention though. They were just like mine.

He gasped and moaned in terror when he properly looked at me, lifting his shoulders as if he wanted to cower. "What atrocious hair! Oh! The lord is howling with such impurity! Fall to the land!" He suddenly commanded, glaring at my head with heavy intensity. "Fix this laughable nest of a hair!"

"I would if I could," I deadpanned, gesturing to my arms, frozen and stiff by the prisoner's outfit.

He huffed indignantly, "I pity you, I do."

I shrugged and looked at the other direction, finding it uncomfortably calm at the order of the yard. Inside of my prison, there was nothing to see but grey bricks, and perhaps those chameleon eyes that kept me company in sleepless nights. It was different here. There were lines of everything to the point where it made a pattern. White figures in separate trails, walking and taking turns for taking in the scenery of the outside world. There was always a rare person in a line either blindfolded or restrained from their peripheral vision. Tied together like the red string of fate. They were entitled to the person in front or behind them. Obliged to look at them when they turn, touch them when they were pushed around, and fated to witness their imprisonment once again.

The guards, shown once in every eight, were armored with the standard gear consisting of blue and black colors. None of it was shiny. None of it was pure metal to the point where they make a clang when they move. It was a bit in the skinny side, eyes and mouth covered by a black helmet and a darker visor. It was like a chess game, now that I think about it. Only in this one the white pawns are the bad guys, and the dark pawns are winning.

The albino leaned closer to me while I was watching the rest of the yard. I barely faltered back a step, just in time to dodge that cryptic smile of his. "You know, it pains me to know that most of the women here are either demons such as I or "evil" humans that have terrible taste of hair and make-up. But there was never a Hylian. No, not even one. I thought they were supposed to be innocent creatures of the light. Tell me, why did the Hero of Time save people like you?"

"Hero of Time?" I asked, feeling a slight pain in the back of my head. I cringed when the sting echoed, growing into a louder thrum, and I fought to keep from falling to tears. Keeping my chin up, I asked without a trembling voice, "What does the Hero of Time have to do with me?"

He giggled, then chortled, then released a full-blown laughter that made him fall to his knees. "Oh, I like you!" He breathed, "You're superb! Terrifyingly charismatic you are!"

With an annoyed frown, I stomped forward, towering over his quivering form. "You know something," I whispered, glowering eyes looking down at him. He tried to calm down by obnoxiously breathing in some air as if he was mocking me in the duration of his laughs. "Why are you laughing?" I nudged him with my foot, but in his struggle to regain breath, he fell on his black. "Why are you laughing?"

But he didn't listen to me. He only laughed and laughed and laughed even more, imprinting this haunting sound into my memory by force. I stepped back. He suddenly seemed slower, the waves of the grass were waving as if they were dancing to a tune. The rays of the sunlight burned. It wasn't warm anymore. It wasn't gentle. It ate my skin. It ate it alive. The shadows of the building eased, slithering towards the day, but it didn't fade. If anything, it darkened into a pure color, a color that would swallow you whole. There were ripples in the sea beside us. Circle after circle, ring after ring, and then a sizzle was heard, bubbling its way into the center. The colors of the waves were no longer blue. It was red. Nothing but red. Teasing its way into the colossal cage of ours in a slow, almost casual, advance.

_Why?_

I looked around. Guards and prisoners alike remained the same. The smallest of habits were noticeable in this point of view. I could see from their twitch of an eye, the flexing of their toes, feet burying themselves in the grass after each step, the fidgeting of their restrained arms, tilting their head up to the sky, shoulders tense and fingers clenching against the leash. They were all signs of it. There wasn't a change in the slightest.

_They didn't know_.

They didn't notice. Everyone was oblivious, trapped in their own thoughts. The shadows, the sun, the color of the ocean. The heat with large intensity, crackling with joy and demise. The twirling of bright colors. The light that destroyed and left nothing behind.

Flames eating everyone alive.

Suddenly, there was a heavy weight in my arms, trying to drag me down and towards the reddening fence beside me. I thrashed, instinctively letting my body resist. I didn't want to burn. I didn't want to be a victim!

Screams.

I turned my head, regretting ever seeing the other side. White turned to charcoal black, pieces torn off by the licks of fire. I witnessed the guards howling in agony, wondering and confused by the agonizing bites of flames. They didn't know what was going on. They couldn't see the fire feeding on their arms and legs and face. Skin melting off, flash unveiling by the second, eyeballs popping out, watching me from the distance, questioning me, accusing me in the ground, as if I did it, as if I cursed them into hell, as if everything was my own doing.

_Perhaps it was._

I blinked, finding everything normal in a second. The weight in my arms was the grip from the guard beside me, shouting me incoherencies. "What are your doing?! Who let you guys out of your leash?! Answer me, now!"

The albino laughed, pointing at the guard with mirth. If the visor was off, I would've seen a sneer on his face. His grip, if anything, tightened even more, leaving no doubt bruises underneath.

"Why am I here?" I muttered to the cackling fool who was being picked off the ground like a doll.

"Dear," The albino wheezed, "Dear, if I knew, my heart would fill with rainbows!"

The guard let out an echo of a growl, nearly breaking my arm with his gloved fist. He roughly wrapped a metal collar around the pale man's neck and asked us again with a threatening edge in his tone, "What happened to your warden!"

The albino finally stopped laughing, staring at the guard with a smile joyously lingering on his lips. "Well," He admonished, "Perhaps the answer lies in the depths of this girl's mind?" He mocked, tilting his head at my direction.

There was a sickening crunch near the guard's gloved hand.

"Or maybe," The albino licked his lips, "It lies near that guard over there. He's dramatically lying on the other side of the world with crimson roses and ebony vines loyally clinging to his sides. It's a shame there aren't any more flowers around, as purple or blue would do just fine." He kicked at the dirt, portraying a child being denied his treat. "The lord is disappointed by this sad excuse of a hell!"

The guard released his hold on me when he pointed a Taser at the albino's neck. "What are you saying?!" He yelled with a towering hunch, "You killed Joseph?!"

Instead of a response, his dark eyes followed the static of electricity reaching towards the delicate skin of his neck. "There's this girl in the asylum, see." A greedy show of his teeth appeared before us, unveiling a terrible giggle. "And she wants to know why! Can you believe it? She wants to know why!"

And then I didn't know what I was doing. It wasn't like before where everything turned slow and nearly unmoving. Instead, it was like everything was disappearing. Everything blurred. In the right there were white figures fading into gurgles of red. In the left, there were grinning mouths pouring rivers of grime.

There was voice in my head telling me to stop. It kept badgering me to pause and listen. It didn't want me to submit. It wanted to be dominant. It wanted to take over. It wanted to purify me into another dimension, somewhere where everything was a sin.

So when I stepped forward, figures pushing themselves into my side, spilling their ashes and entrails onto me, I whispered their words into reality. "_To escape condemnation by the tip of your bones…_"

Black, lifeless hands, fingers curled themselves into a claw and grabbed my face with its nails digging into my eye. I could see the tip –dirty, sharp and rotten– coming closer and closer. The tip so close to my pupil, came into contact…

And it didn't stop.

It didn't stop at all. It just kept digging in, drilling itself as if it wanted to bury me inside out. My other eye watched it skewer her partner, watched a hole form by itself, mixing and whirling, spilling like a broken dam. On my nose, on my cheeks, red trailed into a web like stain until I tasted it: the taste of iron. It probed my teeth, my tongue, my throat. When I realized I was drinking my own blood, trepidation built up, bursting itself into my neck. I opened my jaw even more, seeing with one eye, a red pupil looking back at me with death in its eyes.

"_You must burnish the blood into disparity._"

I tried to make a sound, force myself into saying anything, but I couldn't. I was left up in the air, drowning myself with blood, lips open to a helpless croak, and a broken eye witnessing how the red orb crinkled with vindictive glee as it stared back at me.

* * *

"I heard a scream today."

Miracles by definition were phenomenons. They were supernatural, physically impossible. It was something that shouldn't be granted but happened anyway. They were the hopes and dreams of many. It relies solely on faith, depending on the billions of people in this Earth. People believed that if there was a tragedy, then there can be a miracle. It should be balanced. There is no other way, because if it wasn't balanced, then none of these events would transpire.

Logically though, there is no such thing. It is misleading coincidence. Or maybe these events never happened. Maybe everything was just a dream. Because we are the gods of our dreams, we can control anything. If we want something good to happen, then we just imagine it and make itself seem so simple, consequently manipulating ourselves in every dream. It's crazy. It's realistic.

It's our own imagination.

"I never heard someone make that kind of sound." The eye behind the wall deigned a concerned look. It looked rather lazy to be anything related to worry. "Was it you?"

I didn't bother to respond. The eye did not deserve contact with my own. It was full of contempt when it changed color. Or maybe that was me. My resolve still narrowed into sitting still and staring at the dark sky behind the bars.

There was no moon tonight.

"No?" The voice hummed, "Was it a scream from a victim? I heard the freak in white laugh from the other side. It seems feasible as an attempted murder if it's him. He never learns to keep his mouth shut, after all. Even if it wasn't you, guards have a tendency to electrocute the loud ones."

I brought my legs closer to my chest. Another addition to the restraints was the belt snuggly wrapped around my knees. The only perks to having them were the warmer proximity that allowed me to bury my head in between my arms without effort. I don't think anything could have made a colder night.

"How come you're still restrained? They let you free once you're inside." The voice didn't bother to wait for a response, still musing over my current predicament. I wondered exactly how fun it was to mock someone. After all, all you did was make yourself amused. There was no other reason to degrade another person whom you know is inferior. Perhaps, they need a reminder in order to feed their ego. Attach themselves to a remnant of the past? "So did I hit the bull's-eye after all? Wow, first week and already a riot. No wonder they didn't let you free. You're just like that psycho!"

I exhaled. Legs stretched, arms fell. After the struggle of standing up in the cell, I stared at the eye without trying to mask my irritation. "I don't understand."

The red eye raised an eyebrow, "What is it, princess?" It jeered. "Tell me all about you're confusion."

"You were there."

"No," The eye denied. "No, I don't think I was. In case you forgot, I'm on the other side. You face the dazzling blue sea while I face the dumps and the ditches."

I grit my teeth, "You were there!"

It changed again, red into bleak blue. Something about it was different this time, but I didn't bother to let it faze me. "Whatever you saw wasn't what you thought it was. It's your own mind playing tricks on you. Things happen in places like these. Get over it, and stop acting like a neglected child."

Red shadowed the grey walls again, "After all, it isn't proper of a Goddess now is it?"

My hands flexed, trembling upwards as if there was some kind of string pulling it. My head knocked itself forward, refusing to meet those daunting eyes, making me look at my feet covered in nothing but frost.

"Is this a dream?" I mumbled. My knees buckled and slammed against the concrete floor. The belt dug itself further into my skin. "Am I not supposed to be here? What am I doing? Why am I here?"

"Whoa, whoa, I can't hear you like that." I didn't have to look to know that the color changed again. "Now why don't you ask me something that I can answer to? Like…" They contemplated for a moment. When it did, I looked up, witnessing how it softened, not crinkled delightfully, softened in a way that I never saw before. In a low tone, they asked me without a condescending undertone. "What do I look like?"

I didn't know.

There was something missing in this place, something that I couldn't put my hands on. It was the way where everything looked the same. There were no paintings, no color, no reflection of the sort. It was why I looked at everything else and thought about the reasons of their background. It was the reason why I needed to think. Why I needed to explain.

Because when I looked at the file with a name I couldn't recognize, it was empty.

I leaned forward until my forehead met my thighs, letting my eyelids fall and my cold lips murmur to the eye on the other side of the prison wall. "What do I look like?" I echoed.

It responded with a crass and bitter tone that I didn't manage to register. "Well, I could only tell you the basics. I'm sorry if I can't detail it like the freak in white. You have brown hair and blue eyes, princess. Congratulations on your first answer."

* * *

**A/N: **A reminder to myself that everything here is a rough draft. I will rewrite **only when the story is complete.** So no rewrites and haitus and all that crap.

Question of the Chap: (I'm still doing this people XD)

Who are the three characters featured in this chapter?

Review kiddies


	3. Chapter 2: The Voice that Cries

**Recap:** The story transitions to the first POV. At first unknown to the readers, Zelda is revealed to be resigned to her fate to the asylum/prison of HARK as she does not fight her imprisonment and expects complete isolation. However, she meets an eye on the wall of her prison, assumed to be another prisoner and consistently changes colors from red to blue, who questions why she is imprisoned. Outside of her prison, she meets Ghirahim, the second person to question her sentence as she is Hylian. There, Zelda experiences her first hallucination involving fire and the eye. When she comes to, she's back in her prison and accuses the eye of lying of its absence/ torture. She breaks down when the eye lets her realize that her constant reasoning comes from her amnesia - a completely empty memory of herself. She is comforted when she now knows her appearance.

**A/N: **Small changes like italicizing and stuff. You can ask me questions for more clarification if you're still confused with anything, but I urge you guys to look at the little details before I do so, because they are important and will gut you when you least expect it. Zelda, as you see, thinks a lot. Look at the themes and guess why I chose them.

Have fun ;D

* * *

**Chapter 2: The Voice that Cries**

Insecurity is the only feeling that destroys. Anger only consumes. Envy blinds. Sadness is just a cloud that shadows over you like the plague. However the feeling of insecurity heightens these emotions. It's like reaching towards the sky and thinking that one day you can actually touch it. It achieves a point of no return, a place that one would forever be captivated within, a cage that no prisoner should ever desire because once the rose-colored glasses are off, the reality is something that you don't want to wake up to. It darkens one's perspective. The person who is destroyed by such a feeling could never become the person they were before even if they tried.

To think that they can is just false security, ironically.

Talking to relieve would only resurface emotions. It would make positive ones, the ones that were dead, decompose and become one with the ground. The negative ones personify into the people who assemble today: people who wouldn't accept world views, rebels who try to cancel out the orders of society, workers who have no morals to follow, and then there are those who only seek destruction and chaos, feeding on the anarchy they cause like a blood-sucking leech.

They're nearly similar to the rebels; however, they do not have a purpose or a deeper meaning to their actions. It's shallow and overly simplistic. Somewhere, maybe a small part of their mind, there lies a voice that tells them what they don't want to hear, it misinterprets what they see and what they think. It invades the translation, the real one, and turns it into something ugly, something deformed and grotesque, into a nemesis that turns one's casual life into a game of kill or be killed.

Naturally, the person listens. The voice, in turn, materializes into a haven. From now on, it's a refuge, a safety blanket, another person who now understands the fear and paranoia. It's an instructor of danger and how to get through it without any burns. And in order to feed it, in order to keep it alive, it must feel the satisfaction of crushing the monster under your boot.

They never realize that there is no monster.

Insecurity.

What a way to birth a new demon.

"I want you to breathe in and breathe out. Relax. There's no need to be nervous or shy. We're all in the same boat here. Miss Ashley, why don't you go first?"

Ashley was, perhaps, the youngest prisoner in the institution. With her pigtails and white dress, one would expect she was just the typical spoiled brat. She never cooperated. She never listened. She always interrupted others. She always wore a scowl in her face. A few times she has shown a smirk towards crude displays, but there was never an outright smile on her face, nor were there any bad intentions exhuming out of her person.

It was especially in these classes, that her dissatisfaction was made obvious. When the guidance counselor asked for her participation, she frowned. Her black eyes warily looked us over, a circle of violent criminals taking in the words of twelve-year-old girl.

She didn't breathe in, "I lost my partner during the war." She didn't acknowledge the snickers of her peers, rather finding it her goal to glare at the counselor with an intensity of the summer sun. She rubbed her arms fiercely, leaving a red trail on her pale skin as her wrists went up and down, up and down. "People think I'm crazy because they think he doesn't exist."

The counselor shook her head in disappointment, neatly folding her hands on her lap as she looked at the girl with the utmost patience. "Miss Ashley, you didn't breathe in and out. I need you to–"

"People like you are the reason I'm here." Ashley spat. I looked at her carefully. Her eyes were narrowed, glancing subtly around the room trying to find something, something that would probably eat her alive, eyes that shadowed the dark circles tucked underneath.

"Miss Ashley," the counselor continued, "There's a reason why I asked of you to calm your breathing."

Her black eye twitched. "A little girl lost her partner, and you're asking her to _breathe_?"

"It clears the mind. Right now, no one is going to listen–"

She stood up, clattering the chair to the floor in an instant. The still guards immediately left their positions in order to point their assigned weapons consisting of a Taser, a needle, and the familiar sweater vest in white.

I didn't need to be a therapist to see that this counseling session was not going as it was intended to be. Ashley, with her trembling hands, didn't know whether to be frustrated or terrified out of her mind. Little sweat droplets fell from her forehead but she didn't look at us in the eye nor pay heed to the guards that can take away her freedom without a second thought. She walked towards the counselor and yelled in her face, "Why would I want them to listen to me? Why would I want these _crazy people_ to listen to me?!"

I already knew what the counselor was going to say, "Please, Miss Ashley, refrain yourself from calling your peers such a term."

The girl gave her an incredulous look; her shoulders slumped in defeat when the guard forcefully pulled her out of the room. Then when the giggles from a certain albino grew louder in volume, she turned to look at us one by one, finding this realization a hard thing to grasp. That people in an asylum were not in fact 'crazy,' just fretfully misunderstood in the terms of society as implied by the women in a coat.

She looked at us in these mixed emotions, all ranging from unconcealed fear to accusing anger. She was sad, yes, but she couldn't have the right simply for the reason that she was deemed insane by the authority. She didn't have time to grieve, didn't have time to cry and properly send off a dead friend because she was dragged into a group like us where we laugh and dismiss a death of a so called comrade, where we demean those with pitiable emotions and beat them into a stage of indifference.

She looked like she wanted to cry with those glimmering miserable eyes. But when she looked at me, she stared. The wrinkles between her eyebrows slowly eased away as did the fire in those dark eyes. With a blank face copying mine, she was resolute to stare me down until I was out of her sight. She slowly lost her grip, her frown rising to a flat line, and with a final glance around the room, she turned, arms tightly crossed behind her back and needle grazing her skin.

It was silent when the doors closed.

But the satisfied sigh from the albino made that silence fall behind the curtain. "Oh dear, dear, dear. That was marvelously entertaining. Yes, that was rightfully exhilarating. What an attitude so filled with sparkling salt and sugar."

"Mister Ghirahim," The woman called, seemingly unfazed by the outburst. "Why don't you tell us your story?"

His dark eyes crinkled in joy. Without any struggle from his restrained arms, he sat up from his seat and hummed in contemplation. "Miss, that is an extreme blur of miscalculation, yes? I do not know what you ask of me, see? There are stories of my divine leadership, my legendary revolution of hell on Earth, and then there is the story of my adventures in fences. Which one would you gather?"

"Any of them," The woman replied encouragingly, clicking her pen and waving a blank page for all to see. "From now on this is your own journal. I'm only here to listen and write."

He grinned. "I'm afraid that's classified information."

Laughter resonated in the room, but the counselor did not look the least bit amused. "Mister Ghirahim, please don't make this any harder. Now, take a deep breath and let it all out. Calm your nerves and tell us a story. There's no need to feel insecure."

"It's 'lord,' you obscene human." He hissed, leaning forward with a sneer. "'Mister' is for the petty species of yours. Do not associate that repulsive term to the demon lord such as I!"

"Yes, yes," She dismissed, as if nodding to the words of a child. "But demons can't be much different to the human mind. It's simple and similar to the decisions and thinking of our own. We can predict if we study. Your quirks are something short of picky and, pardon my diction, self-centered." She glanced at the others to stop their snickering, forcing them to submission with a chiding look. I looked at her square in the eye when she passed me, momentarily making her pause before she turned to the frowning man in white.

"You dare relate us to the same spectrum." Ghirahim curled his spine even more. "I'll tell you a story, a story so funny, so humorous that it will make you spit out colors of the roses and thorns. Listen well, mere mortal, of the story of a girl who killed the Hyrulian army with nothing but needles and her bare hands, of a hunter who killed the mighty dragon of the planet and accidently killed a general with a flick of her finger, of a mercenary who killed the very people who raised him purely as a whim! Mercy, dear!" He giggled, snorting with disgusting vigor. "You know nothing of mercy when placed in a building filled with vermin!"

"Restrain him."

In seconds, Ghirahim was once again trapped in the white uniform, skin decorated with needles and patches that gave out static of electricity with a single button. Throughout the whole process, he didn't let out the breath of relief, the one usually found at the end of laughter.

When the door closed, the counselor looked at me, smiling at me with the gentleness of a tired babysitter who didn't even like kids. I didn't express any sign of discomfort, adapting her stare into one of my own. But she kept on staring at me, tapping away at her clipboard and not letting any of the others have the benefit of her attention. Eventually, she grew tired of the wait. She leaned forward and spoke with a reassuring tone.

"Take a deep breath for five seconds, hold it in, and let it all out. Slowly, with no hurry. Find a rhythm in your own breathing."

Silence.

She waited. A shadow rushed past her shoulder. That was when I found the grinning red eye in the other side of the wall.

It tilted. Slanted pupils veering the opening of the bars as if trying to squeeze through. It couldn't though, because it kept growing, floating closer and closer, the caged window being too small forced it to ingrain itself into the metal, popping the eyeball out until it was nothing short of a gory scene. One touch and it would pop like a balloon only instead of air blowing out like a fuse, it would be blood and the strings of the retina instead.

I couldn't look away. The only attention swerved into my senses where I could feel the skin on my arms fumble from the inside as if there were bugs trying to escape by tearing my skin apart. I felt stale, unsweet. The organs inside me did not exist, only filling my body with all the vile things in the world. Finally the red eye spouted a name, taking glee in my discomfort.

"_Miss Zelda_." It sung. "_Miss Zelda_." It hummed, testing the taste of my name in its invisible tongue.

Someone snapped their manicured fingers in front of me.

I blinked at the empty room. The light chairs were missing people, all of them circling me as if it was a kid's game instead of a therapy session. The brunette counselor looked at me cautiously. When I turned around, the guards were still there with the same tension and caution as before.

She brought my chin towards her direction. "Miss Zelda, session is over."I only nodded, dazed in a way that still felt like a dream. She let go and stepped back slowly. "It was over three hours ago."I didn't bring myself to care.

The counselor tightened her lips, breathing in before she spoke in a softer voice. "It was possibly better to speak to you alone. I assumed you would speak in front of the others. I'm sorry I didn't take into consideration of your discomfort." She sat next to me, this time without her pen and clipboard, and exhaled a small smile. "Do you want to talk?"

I glanced at the opposite wall and found nothing staring back at me. When I looked back at her, I tried to smile, but it only came out as a grimace more than anything. "Okay."

This time, her smile was more confident, "I wish that I can hope you're enjoying your stay in the institution, but we both know that there is no such thing. So I'm going to ask instead if you remember anything before you came here. Are you recalling anything recently? Dreams count as well."I shook my head."What about any faint memories of _how_ you came here?"

This time I thought about it. It wasn't faint at all. I could remember everything. The only problem was the fact that everything was hazy. I remember the impossibility of breathing, needles sticking under my skin, tubes making my insides churn by either sucking something out or forcing something in. The straps that trapped me into a wall, straps wrapped everywhere, sparing me no mercy. They were around my wrists, around my arms, around my knees and ankles, around my waist, around my neck.

"I was in a hospital." I whispered. She nodded to assure me that she could hear.

There was a beeping sound in the room, and each time I twitched it went faster, pitch higher. With the beep, there was a surge of pain that echoed its pitch and translated it into the screeches of my veins, into something that strangled me into suffocation.

"I think I was in a coma," I looked down at my covered arms, wondering if it was as pale as it was before.

_Because I remembered it being the same color as the skin of a dead person._

"Yes," She whispered carefully, wondering that if she raised her voice, I wouldn't speak anymore.

"I sat up…" The colors of red, yellow, and orange waving at me in the white halls. The burnt remains that it shed behind. I remembered strangers touching me and screaming in hysteria. I remembered the constant thoughts of 'look away, look away,' walking into path after path without a care in the world. "And every time someone touched me, I screamed."

"Why did you scream?" The counselor asked me with a firm voice, stronger than the whisper from before. "Did the nurses not treat you well? Did they treat you with aggression?"

There were sirens blaring into my ears. I kept falling, and even though I was skinned by the floor and trembling, I walked. I walked as if I was being hunted down.

I remember stopping, trying to breathe in real air, trying to at least make a sound come out, but there was only a gurgle. Then I was being smothered. I was gasping, choking, desperate, because I realized that I was deprived of solidarity between my lungs and my brain. I remembered hands clumsily reaching towards my neck, trying and failing to make it all better; as if they thought wrapping around my throat with pale icy fingers would somehow make it open and free to breathe.

"No." I swallowed hard, throat dry from saliva. I averted her intense gaze and looked towards the sound of a thump outside the room. One of the guards opened the door to check.

It was nothing.

Another hand reached me instead, one that was warmer and bigger than mine, stopping my act of self-satisfaction. I remember them shaking me, clenching my shoulders and making me stumble back and forth, back and forth, surprising myself by my lack of response. I remember my thoughts. The thoughts that terrified me, the ones that convinced me that I shouldn't be scared, that I shouldn't be wary of a stranger bringing me harm.

That I didn't have to react.

_"What are you doing? Why are you here? Answer me!"_

"No, I don't think so." I remember him digging his fingers into my skin.

"Then why did you scream?"

_"No...Stop! Stop it! I just want to help you!"_

I remember his arms turning into a layer of charcoal, bones appearing as if just waiting to get out, teeth gritting and reveling in the new spotlight as his lips turned darker and darker until they weren't lips anymore. I remember him closing his eyes, the clear patch of his eyelids instantly turning black and flaky just like the rest of him, his body exploding into nothing but dust falling near my feet.

I remember not looking away.

"Miss Zelda?"

I grunted when I felt a stinging sensation on my shoulders, seeing just in time to see the counselor scrunch her nose in slight fear as she held up her hand in confusion. I tilted up my head in question, quickly getting her out of her stupor.

"Miss Zelda, why did you scream?"

_"Control.""You – You can't just do this!""Where is she going?! Why is no one…oh my God.""I don't know what to do!""Control!""She killed so many people…""Why won't she let me go?!" _I clutched my head in pain.

"Miss Zelda?" The counselor moved to steady me, but instead of touching my forearm, it met the padded arms of the guard. He silently asked her to step back, standing next to me with the needles ready to fire. She shot him a slightly annoyed, slightly grateful look, craning her neck to the side to look at me. "Miss Zelda, what's wrong? Is it your memories? Am I asking too much for you?"

I pulled my hair, looking over their shoulders. "I–I don't know." The red eye crinkled between the bars of the cage, taking glee in my discomfort.

The woman noticed this, turned around and gave me a confused but worried look, "What happened? Did you see something?"

I curled my fingers deeper until I scratched my skull in satisfaction. But I was never satisfied, and I could never be satisfied, because the red eye stared down at me, wishing through the glow of its color, that it could be the one doing that instead.

"Miss Zelda?"

Then something injected itself into my brain, something big, something slimy,

Something dark.

* * *

There was a time where I believed that there was no difference between dreams and hallucinations.

They both weren't real. They can cure you or break you until you can't sleep anymore. They both trick you into believing there's another world where it's better or where it's worse. And even if you think you can control it, even if others think that you can actually make up those dreams and illusions, that _you_ are the one ultimately making it up, it's an impossibility.

They weave into your mind like spiders. There are thousands of cobwebs in the depths of your brain, tangling more and more until it's a network mimicking your nerve system. You react whether it's you talking in your sleep, whimpering in imaginary pain, or falling off because of a false sense of gravity, you react and you don't remember reacting unless you wake up.

"_But what if you don't wake up?_"

"Then you've already lost_._" I responded without a moment's hesitation, looking up at the same red eye I've been seeing since day one.

It moved side to side, taking its time before saying, "_Why is that?_"

I pondered at the question. Losing could mean a lot of things. It could mean that something is damaged, like pride or dignity, maybe denial. It could mean failing a test of wills. It doesn't necessarily mean losing as in gain or loss, but it could also mean that it does, just not things that you could adapt to. Losing can range from losing the simple things in the same level as trinkets, yet it could be in the highest value like a human being, a special someone.I shifted, rubbing my ankles together to relieve the tension, "It can mean you can't get something back."

"_Something like what?_"

My eye twitched unconsciously, body shivering in response, "Something like your mind."

"_That's a pretty big something._"

I grimaced, tilting my head in fond remembrance, "It's why I'm here."

The eye squinted without malice. The sky darkened behind it, metal bars of the window losing its shadow. It made the ruby color stick out like the full moon of a cloudy night sky. "_Aren't you curious in why I can hear your thoughts?_"

"No," I automatically answered, smiling in a rueful manner, "I stopped wondering about things like that." I looked away from the red eye, turning only to see the same wall instead of my prison door. It was pitch black. The only way I could detect any light is from the glow seeping through the eye's pupil. "B_es_id_e_s, you _d_o_n't_ ex_is_t." I let out a cold fog of breath in the lonely space beyond my feet. I turned to the caged window on the wall, but it wasn't there anymore. There was nothing to see now, nothing to do but to hear the voice that echoed around me like an unwanted embrace. Then there was a laugh so chilling and malicious, it made the darkness seem smaller. As if it was closing in on me.

"_I don't exist_," The eye agreed, "_But I am alive._" The ground trembled as its voice bounced from one ear to another. The moment where one ear went deaf, I inhaled sharply, scared that I wouldn't hear at all. Then it spoke again, casual and almost playful as it circled me like a predator. "_I'm just like you_."

I shook my head, trying to shrug off the feeling building up from under my skin. I looked from left to right, but the lone red eye kept following me, invading my vision with its smiling twinkle of mischief.

"_Have you ever wondered why you keep referring to yourself as 'I'?_" There was a flash, blinding me. I couldn't see. I couldn't hear. Then the flash disappeared and I couldn't help but to claw my eyes to shield me from the reflection. "_It's because you want to believe that you are alive, that you exist, that this is your face._"

"_No_," I denied with a shake of my head, arms bent to cover my face. I forced myself to open my eyes and could only whimper at the sight. It was mocking me, giving me an expression full of scorn. I didn't need this mirror. I didn't need it to lie! I threw it away, cringing at the screams replacing the sound of glass. "_These features are mine and mine alone!_" I screeched, eyes squeezing shut and hands clamping down near my ears. I bent down and felt for the ground. It almost sounded like feet were running towards my direction, surrounding every side. There were screams. There were laughs. There was the sound of flesh meeting metal, the smell of rusting iron lingering in the air, the touch of a gooey substance falling through my fingers. I didn't know what it was.

_I didn't know what it was._

"**_Are they really?_**"

It met my knees, soaked my uniform until it was drenched. The buildup was overwhelming, I couldn't hear anymore. It slithered and made squelching noises as it crawled over my skin and clothes, going between my legs, my ears, worming on my tongue and into my throat. It forced me to look, to stare at the broken mirror where I saw nothing but burnt flesh, dead eyes, and blood seeping through like a broken pipe.

"_This is you._" The eye whispered, smiling through the eyes of the mirror, "_This is you."_

I gurgled and sat up catching my breath.

"Morning, princess."

I quickly turned my head and saw a blue eye through the bars of the window. Half-lidded, eyelashes curling up, lower half lifting up into a humorless smile.

"Did you have a nice dream?"

* * *

**A/N: **Next chapter will come soon~

**Quest. of the Chap:** Why do you think Zelda was imprisoned to HARK?


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